Away from me
by planet p
Summary: Chloe’s not feeling her clearest. Chloe/Nicholas, in a one-sided kinda way.


**Away from me** by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own _Stargate: Universe_ or any of its characters.

* * *

Maybe she'd felt it even then, maybe that was why she'd attacked him so fervently following her father's death.

Fists flying, clawing outwards…

Her chest clenched to the stiff drum roll her heart was beating as her eyes followed him, and her bottom teeth snuck up to nibble her lip… The things she could do with that delicious tush, _to_ that gorgeous butt… Her head rung, suddenly; a ghostly sigh dredged from the depths.

_Chloe!_

She couldn't be thinking things like that about _him_. If only he wasn't so totally delectable from this viewpoint. Her gut ached as she watched, images rushing through her mind, tumbling over one another: stripping him of his shirt and trailing her mouth over his hot, trembling skin, her tongue tasting him; teeth sinking into the soft flesh surrounding a nipple with a teasing tug…

_Oh my God, Chloe!_

Mouth watering, she began to take a step forward, toward…

_Chloe, stop! If you even-!_

Gathering her last strength, she turned about, and walked away with shaking legs. She-she needed help, right? She felt giddy, like hiccuping, and her eyes prickled.

He wasn't-

_Mmm, cookies 'n' cream…_

She began to walk faster, pushing forward with strong, unfaltering strides.

Crap, she really needed help! Maybe she'd been infected with something… _alien_… and it was clouding her judgement. What next, she'd start stalking him?

_Ah, hate to break it to you, Chlo-_

She gave a tiny whimper, which only made her think of that yummy look he got when he was confused.

Sh-she needed T-Tamara, T.J. She was almost crying now.

What was so bad about wanting to touch another living being?

But this was bad, because she wasn't sure he was-

Well, of course he was, but-

He wasn't the same. Not the same as her, as her father had been, as the others stranded onboard the _Destiny_ along with them were. And, what was worse, was what _she_ wanted to do to him!

She was certain that he was in the slightest inclined to her in the same way, not after she'd tried to attack him; not after she'd blamed him for practically murdering her father.

Which she totally stood by, by the way.

But she wanted to-!

Well, she was 23, and she'd had physical relationships before, but this was crazy.

Crazy!

Exactly!

She had to find T.J. right away and confess as soon as she could. She needed to know what was wrong with her and how to make it stop.

"Chloe, of the pompous brat's club!"

She screamed. Where had he turned up from? "Get away from me!" she howled. What? Wait! Had he just called her-?

She scrunched up her face and flew at him.

How dare he? How dare he?

He stepped backward sharply in fright, not that he'd let it _show_. At least, he had to be shocked.

_She_ was shocked.

Even after everything she'd been fantasising about earlier, she couldn't just leave him alone! All he was was a childish, irresponsible lump… and she was as childish as he was for rising to the bait.

She forced herself to freeze, and stomped her foot down with force. "Get away from me!" she repeated, at nightclub volume. (Of course, the _Destiny_ wasn't a nightclub, and her voice came out as a holler.)

Still, Rush didn't seem convinced. For a scientist, he wasn't exactly coming over as gleaming-science-club-trophy-in-eighth-grade bright. Then again, scientists weren't known best for their social aptitude.

"I swear I'll hurt you if you come any closer!" she growled, feeling her palms itching to slap him for the _brat_ comment. She sounded like a whiny, overstrung high school kid, but _she_, at least, had valid reason.

He wasn't the one who was having his brain invaded by creepy, space-invaders-from-outer-space fantasies whenever he tried his hand at a spot of rational _thought_!

What did he have to complain about?

Nothing!

"So help me God, you won't be able travel far enough away if a time machine suddenly popped out of thin air!"

"Are you feelin' yourself?"

_Argh, what?_

She stared at him. Had he really had to lay on the accent? Was he trying to torture her _on purpose_? In a minute, she'd be drooling. She pulled her last cast, and flew with it – at the top of her voice. "T.J.!"

And felt her last card flare, momentarily, and crumble to ashes.

Couldn't he just hustle his cute, suspicious self else where? Like somewhere _she_ wasn't!

"Ms. Armstrong?"

Her eyes snapped to in a narrowed glare. "Was that just you patronising me, Scotty?" She watched the gears going as he tried to fight the urge to react, and seized her very, very last card.

She ran.

By the time she reached T.J. she was gasping like maybe she'd been almost drowning for hours, and she'd developed a stitch to back it up, which, typically – was when she woke up.

She sat up, furious, and threw and kicked as much of her blankets from her as possible. In the morning – or _whatever_ it was called on a spaceshippy-thingy – she'd find Rush and murder him, before her nightmare had the chance to play itself out.

The only problem was devising how she was going to murder him, which, on a derelict spaceship, was kinda a big thing, especially if it turned out that all she had was some hunk of could-be-metal that'd totally scream suppressed rage and, well, with all the blood on her clothes, _Chloe did it!_


End file.
